


Limitless

by AnotherLoser



Series: growing up, it made me numb [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Addiction, Codependency, Depression, Drug Addiction, Dysfunctional Relationships, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Overdosing, Peter is almost 21, Substance Abuse, not beta read we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:27:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22072528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherLoser/pseuds/AnotherLoser
Summary: Harry caught on quickly enough that Peter grew weary of him for a short time, afraid the other man knew too much or would too soon at that rate. But all the same he wanted that fix, Harry didn’t question him outright, and Peter liked him without the drugs anyhow. He wanted to trust him, and it hadn’t backfired yet.
Relationships: Harry Osborn & Peter Parker, Harry Osborn/Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: growing up, it made me numb [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1069584
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51





	Limitless

He’s never found his limit. In the beginning it hit hard and fast and was just as fleeting. Peter didn’t have the money for nicer quality product, and it wasn’t the kind commonly shared with strangers at a party. Even if he could every once in a while, it still wouldn’t be enough to last him.

Harry caught on quickly enough that Peter grew weary of him for a short time, afraid the other man knew too much or would too soon at that rate. But all the same he wanted that fix, Harry didn’t question him outright, and Peter liked him without the drugs anyhow. He wanted to trust him, and it hadn’t backfired yet.

There was a nose dive sometime after that. Not a crash, no burn, not the bottom of the heap, but it wasn’t good for him either. He and Harry went on benders and binges and missed more classes than Peter ever let himself before or afterwards. By the time they crawled out of it, even the Harry Osborn had run out of supplies and they had no choice but to wait long enough that he realized he needed to really stop and take a break. By the time he realized that, he was lighter, paler, and decorated in small bruises from god knows what that he couldn’t even remember. And he had been entirely disconnected from the city as a whole, never mind the news.

They eased their way back in from there, found what was generally comfortable with a few ups and downs and stayed within that realm. It didn’t make it okay, knowing some boundaries. It didn’t make it safe. Didn’t make any of the experiences guaranteed. But it did make it easier and, compared to what it could be, safer.

Still, when he lays awake in a pile of pale limbs beside his friend, sometimes he couldn’t help himself but listen to Harry’s heartbeat. Zoning in on it, even from the other side of the bed just to make sure it was still beating steady like it should. When it skips so does his own, and when it steadies his will a moment later.

When they’re closer - either one wrapped in the other’s arms - he wonders if Harry does the same, if that was why he was always messing with his hair and inching closer— to keep an eye on him without always asking.

[...]

His phone has been going off with blocked or unknown numbers periodically for weeks. He suspected at first a scam, but now there was a pattern to it.

One call in the morning, one in the afternoon. One the next night, and then the number chances. Someone was hiding, using fakes, he suspected. He would guess burners if not for the frequency- who had the time for buying a new phone every week just to harass Peter Parker? Either way, whatever they wanted wasn’t something he needed to know.

He did his work, his assignments, he kept the city safe from mad men and more violent mutants than himself. He caused no one trouble. Ned would be more direct, MJ wouldn’t bother and she probably didn’t want to see him again after the last time anyway. He and Liz talked regularly for a brief time before his spiral began, but it’s been years since. Everyone else was dead. No one needed him anymore- no one but Harry, and maybe some of the people he tries to save, so he continues to ignore the phone.

[...]

Sometimes Harry gets a look in his eye when Peter goes out, one that makes him feel the walls closing in. It was only a matter of time, after all. His disappearances, his bruises, his tolerance. The exhaustion could be chalked up to work and school and night life, but after he’s been thrown straight through four brick walls there wasn’t a very good excuse for the evidence left over. Harry doesn’t ask, of course. It looked like too sensitive of a topic for discussion. He saw it though. He saw the news occasionally as well, always on the same nights Peter wasn’t available.

Maybe he already knew and just wanted Peter go come clean on his own. Or maybe he had no idea, but he would eventually.

Everything is put on hold when they go out together though; Harry isn’t thinking about what Peter got up to and Peter isn’t worried about the unsaved number making his phone buzz in his pocket once again. He’s absolutely drunk, and he can feel the edible he took earlier beginning to light up his buzz even further. Warm fuzzies accompanied by a tingle throughout his limbs. His smile is uncontrollable, his limbs seem to have a mind of their own while he wanders about with no real trajectory in mind. One hand braces on the wall and glides across the surface as he meanders, the other pushes up into his mess of overgrown hair and twirls chucks around his fingers mindlessly, right up until he finds himself staring at a closed door.

The doorknob was old and round and gold. The door itself was entire plain, a dull white not unlike the walls of the hallway that led him here. Peter looks between the two and decides that the walls are definitely closer to a tan color. Who decided such a pale brown was a good choice? Why not more contrast? Why did it matter?

He was curious now, gaze drifting over his surroundings, taking in the distinct lack of photos or decoration. Had he ever been here before? Was that why he didn’t notice until just now- was he used to it? He doesn’t remember whose house it was anymore. He only knows who he came with and that the walls were so boring the gold on the door stands out more than anything else about the place. The hand in his hair reaches for the knob and Peter stumbles into the room a second later.

He doesn’t like seeing Harry kiss people.

He doesn’t usually see it- it doesn’t happen when they’re sober. Harry knew - or at least felt like - the ultimate motivation for anyone showing interest in him was after his name. The reputation or the money or both. It wasn’t about him. The only time he could ignore the concept was when he was drunk or stoned or otherwise out of his mind, ready to make a bad decision so long as Peter didn’t need his help.

Tonight he didn’t need it. He wasn’t losing it, wasn’t having a bad trip or being taken down by his hyperactive senses. And so it seemed Harry found someone to look after him- or more accurately, his dick. His tongue was in her mouth and her hand was in his pants, both still mostly clothed and both still sat up on the end of the bed for the moment being. Peter caught the show early.

They stop when they notice him though, confused glances shooting towards the now open door simultaneously before just as fast they went in different directions; the girl he doesn’t recognize squints, clearly out of it herself but ready to kick him out of the room all the same. But beside her Harry was grinning like a cat that got the cream.

“Close the door.” He says, and Peter does as he’s told. She doesn’t look happy that he stayed in the room, but that was just what Harry wanted. He gestures Peter closer with a curl of his finger. “Pants off.” He tells the girl. She hesitates, sorting out what was going on, Peter figured, but she didn’t need to worry. Harry’s hand winds in his hair and guides him down easily. Clumsy, drunk fingers slip in where the girl’s had been, freeing his friend’s member while Harry helps her out and lays back himself. They end up with her thighs framing his face and Peter’s mouth around his cock.

[...]

It was really too common for Peter to wake up unsure of how exactly he’d gotten home. That he made it back at all unscathed was the important part though, he figured. So he doesn’t worry, he doesn’t bother wondering about it. He was too busy trying to hide from his ringing phone anyway.

How it still had battery at this point, Peter did not know, nor did he truly care beyond wishing it had died the night before. No one should be waking him up- not with the monster of a hangover he ended up with.

He needed water and electrolytes and then the whole pot of coffee. When the buzzing phone stops, he prepares himself to seek out the first part of that plan - dry eyes barely open, his hands on the mattress ready to help push his body up - when just a moment later it starts up again.

Groaning, he slaps his hand down blindly until finding the offending device. Three seconds- four? However long and it shuts off with his thumb on the power button.

It was still just a momentary relief. He still needed to get up. He still needed to take care of his head. Really he should be factoring breakfast in as well.

Bones creaking and eyes shut tight, Peter pushes himself up. Leaving the warmth of the covers isn’t ideal either, but the longer he thinks about it the harder it will be. The blankets are pushed aside, and with a deep breath he forces his feet to the floor to stand.

Then another pounding started, this time on the front door; a heavy banging from a hammer fist on wood. He wants to curse, but Harry has a key. No one else should even know where he lived - aside from whoever took him home - and that only left the land lord or perhaps a very angry neighbor.

Tired, dry, hungry and aching, Peter drags himself to the door, finding it already unlocked when he tugs it open on the first go.

[...]

Tony arranged May’s funeral, paid for it all in full, even got Peter a new suit so he wouldn’t have to think of what to do with himself the morning of. He took care of everything - or maybe Pepper did - so that the young hero could grieve in peace.

Then he did the same thing that everyone did; hugged him after the service, asked him if he needed company, left him alone when he asked and after that began to check in less and less often. He asked for space and they gave it to him. They gave up on reaching him, and he didn’t blame them. However lonely he might have been before Harry came along, the distance was exactly what he wanted. Exactly what he asked for.

He can’t really remember the last time he saw Tony exactly. He thinks it was the funeral - the day that blurred together even now - but he knows that wasn’t it. There was something else, at least once. Tony was too intent on taking care of people to drop off at the first sign. Peter just couldn’t remember. Not when it was or what was said.

“Phone dead, Parker?”

The young man blinks, foggy mind struggling with the sight before him.

“I’ve been calling. Y’know, since you wouldn’t answer my number I figured I’ll just keep bouncing around until you gave up- which you did not do, props on the stubbornness. But calling was a curtesy, kiddo.” Peter snorts.

“Harassing me was a curtesy?”

“Yeah, it was, considering what I could have done and wanted to do right from the start is kick the door down and ask where the hell you’ve been.”

“Like now?”

“Didn’t kick the door.”

“No, you just wanted to punch a hole through it…”

He doesn’t like the look in Tony’s eyes, the sheer determination on his face. The tone of his voice. He also doesn’t like the amount of silver in the man’s hair that wasn’t there the last time they spoke. Resigned, Peter turns away, door left open in a passive invitation behind him. Water, vitamin drink, coffee. Coffee could brew while he gulped down the first two.

“I knew the neighborhood was lousy, kid, but is this seriously where you’re living?” Whatever Tony was talking about exactly, he didn’t know nor did he need to. There was laundry on the floor, takeout containers, dirty dishes. He didn’t sweep his floors or vacuum the rug or dust the shelves. Only the desk was clean, only because it was his work space both for school and personally. And it was certainly easier to look after a desk than try to deal with the water stains on the ceiling or the creaky floorboard by the sofa. Certainly easier than building a proper bed frame.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t like it.” He tosses back over his shoulder.

“Yeah, right.”

Water, check.

“Your grades have been alright, I noticed.”

“Checking my records, seriously?”

“Somebody needs to keep an eye out… No complaints from your job either. You don’t call in sick, don’t show up late. Spider-Man has still been active. Saw you put up some arsonists a few weeks ago.” Peter only nods his head, pretending to be far too occupied with refilling his glass. “On paper you’re doing great. Flying colors, even.”

Vitamins down the hatch.

“Except you’re hungover right now, right? You have work in two hours, you’re going to down all the coffee you can before then, and I’d say painkillers but they don’t work on you. So it’ll be a hot shower at best, hot coffee for sure, and the only clothes that smell the least like booze or B.O. How am I doing?” Peter slams the glass down on the counter top.

“Right on the money.” He snaps. “Now what do you want?”

“What do I-” The man sputters. Peter watches him in his peripherals turning his head back and forth in disbelief.. “I want to know what the hell is happening, Peter! I want to know what’s going on with you. I want to know why your classmate from high school started calling around to let an adult know that Peter Parker was a fucking addict!”

He winces at the volume of the other’s voice spiking the throbbing in his skull. Brow furrowing, the mutant finally turns to face him head on once again. “I am an adult! And it’s not her business what I do anymore- it’s not anybody’s. You don’t have the right to stalk me and act like it’s for my own good! I’m not your kid, Tony! And you’re not my mentor, or my idol, or my boss, and I don’t need your help!”

Tony's mouth opens to argue, cut off abruptly when there's another knocking on the door. Dumbfounded, his head whips around to the offending noise. Peter grits his teeth, unthinking, and bites out "it's open!" before he's met with silence. It's only a moment, a single beat where he wonders if this time it really was his land lord and he was about to be met with absolutely absurd guilt for snapping at the man. What walks in after that moment was both so much worse and better at the same time.

Harry closes the door again behind himself quietly. He move quick, alert, but carefully as to not come off as on edge as he might actually be. He knew Peter too well to not be tense at the sound of his voice.

"What's going on here?" He asks in the same way; his eyes searching, ready to pounce, but his tone was level.

Peter breathes in a sigh while Tony looks between the two. "Who the hell is this?" He's exasperated, clearly. He also isn't waiting for an answer. "No, you're uhh Osborn's kid, right? Scientist in the making with a long, winding history of wasting dad's money on parties and bail? Great company, Pete, really."

"Tony Stark is judging someone else's private life?" Harry replies, brows raised.

Peter turns to stiffly grab himself a mug and fill it with coffee. "Harry’s my friend, Tony.”

“Oh that explains a lot.”

"He's my _best_ friend. So guess which one of you I'm more willing to throw out?"

"Of course, yes, why listen to an actual adult when there's a spoiled addict in your class. Much more reasonable. Is he the one that got you onto this shit? 'Course if it's him then it isn't just alcohol, is it? What kind of crap is he feeding you?"

His coffee mug shatters on the counter top; hit much harder than the water glass had been and trapping a few jagged ceramic pieces in the mutant's clenched fist.

"You don't know what you're talking about... You don't know Harry. You don't know what's been going on. You don't even know _me_ anymore." He pauses to take a breath. "Get out of my apartment, Tony."

“Peter-”

“He said get out.”

“And I suppose you’re going to make me? Take it easy, Osborn. You don’t know what’s going on either—”

It’s a bitter laugh that bursts from his lips. “He knows more than you do!” Hand bleeding and burning, spilled coffee dripping onto the floor and a sour look on his face as he rounds on the older man. “Harry might not have been there in high school but that is _so far_ from where shit ended and you should know that. You of all people should understand, Tony! But you’re acting like you have no clue— like- like I couldn’t possibly have a reason for doing what I do. For pushing people out, for doing fucking drugs, or— ...Harry gets it, okay, he’s always got it and when he doesn’t, he doesn’t pretend like he does. He’s just _there_ without pushing, whether I want to be sober or not because guess what? I’d be doing the same shit with or without him but at least _with him_ I have some kind of support, and someone to make sure I don’t choke on my vomit at the end of the night! And where were you? While we’ve been looking out for each other here, where have you been? What have you been doing? Flying in and out of the fucking country and harassing me with burner phones because you’re too much of a coward to look me in the eye.”

[...]

He still has work that day. Harry cleans up the kitchen while Peter showers, still grateful the uniform comes with a baseball cap so he didn’t have to worry much about how hygienic he was. Afterwards there’s a thermos of fresh coffee waiting, along with his friend’s concerned eyes - a look he still tries to keep reserved.

After the day is done and Peter needs to return home, if only so he can change and go back out again, Harry is still in his apartment. Still waiting.

Still...

He doesn’t go out at Spider-Man that night. Instead he lays on the sofa with Harry, his head on the other’s lap and nothing but the sounds of thumping feet on the floor above them for entertainment. Unusually quiet even for them, even when Harry does open his mouth and say,

“Let’s move in together. Again.”

And Peter doesn’t know what to think. He knows that Harry can tell he’s been set off. That at least one of the things they don’t talk about was just brought up to the surface, demanding to be addressed in one way or another. And that Peter doesn’t handle those kinds of situations any better than Harry did himself. It was just his way of trying to fix things- to prove he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Okay.”

“...Yeah?”

“Yeah... Cut my hair first though.”

He does. And it was good timing, too, as they celebrate the move-in with a party of their own for once in a long time. It wasn’t very loud, not overly crowded as the invite list actually mattered this time and didn’t get out of control. But the music was booming and the drugs were plentiful and Peter couldn’t remember his own name by the time he was dragged to the bathroom, vomit dribbling down his chin and body stuck in a loop of limp and then seizing.

He’d open his eyes eventually, and Harry would brush the remainder of his bangs off of his sweaty forehead, but Peter would pass out before he could explain why he shouldn’t go to a hospital.


End file.
